After running the idea past Penny and getting her tearful blessing, we spend the next few days planning the event.

We tell everyone Hartley knew, and ask for their help spreading the word, about the open house party in her honor. And to reach those she didn't know, we make colorful flyers and distribute them around town, hoping to make the benefit as successful as possible.

As we pass out the invitations, every inch of the French Quarters reminds me of her. The corner store where she'd swiped her cigarettes when I first came to town. The vintage clothing and jewelry shops. Madame LaRue's House of Magic. Even the smell—cigarettes combined with jasmine and mossy trees. I close my eyes and breathe it in, trying to accept the fact that she's no longer here to appreciate the town she'd introduced me to.

"Do you think she knows what we're up to?"

It's early afternoon and Sully and I are sipping sodas at Lady Bijou's as the staff scurry around us, getting ready to open its doors.

He shrugs as a server stops by our table with more drinks. "I'd like to think she does."

"It's so weird not having her here," I tell him, taking my straw from the first glass and sinking it into the next. "I lay in bed at night expecting her to be lying right next to me, but when I look over, she's not there. And then I get to thinking about alternate universes and how maybe there is something more out there besides our own—just like she used to imagine with her dad. Is that crazy?"

He shakes his head. "Hartley had a way of inflicting her thoughts and beliefs on everyone. She could be very convincing."

It's true. I don't understand things like the Big Bang Theory or Heaven and Hell or how the universe first began, but Hartley had the ability to make her beliefs seem possible.

"Have you talked to Nick or Melanie?" I ask. "How are they doing?"

Sully slurps the last few drops of soda through the straw then pushes his glass to the side. "I've spoken to Melanie a few times. She's as well as can be expected. But I haven't talked to Nick."

The image of Nick standing behind Hartley and Sully the night I confronted them, his face hard like a statue, flashes through my mind. He was so angry, reliving their indiscretion all over again. "Did you two always hate each other, or was it because of ..." I can't finish the sentence.

Sully chews on his bottom lip, his gaze moving away from mine. "I've never liked him," he said. "And then when Hartley got sick—I mean, noticeably sick—it's almost like he encouraged it. Always telling her how good she looked ..."

It's like having the wind knocked out of me all over again. Everyone knew what was going on except for me. I suppose it'll always feel that way, but I try not to dwell. "Hartley knew what she was doing."

"I know you're right. But still. He's a serious douchebag."

I'm taking a sip when he says this. "I never understood what she saw in him to begin with."

"Who knows? Maybe it's that ridiculously thick neck of his?" And then he smiles. "Are you ready to finish passing out flyers?"

My eyes move to the remaining pile in the center of the table and I take one last swallow of my drink. "Let's do it. We have a party to throw!"

Saturday afternoon arrives before I know it—one week to the day after we buried Hartley—and guests are filing into Lady Bijou's in droves. I'm with Bastian backstage, getting ready for the fun to begin. Men in drag are applying makeup in a haze of hairspray while others are putting the finishing touches on their extravagant ensembles, all chatting excitedly about the massive crowd outside.

I'd assumed Bastian would be hosting the event as Lady Bijou, dripping in Old Hollywood-inspired fashion, but he's dressed as himself, in comfortable gray khakis and a thin white button up, the sleeves rolled up three-quarters of the way. He's very handsome. I decided to wear the nicest dress I brought with me—a mint green paisley-print with matching high top Converse.

There's an energy buzzing around the club—more so than usual—and it's of the nervous variety. It dawns on me that Bastian is just as anxious as I am for things to go as planned. It's probably also because it's the first time he's allowed his professional and social lives to collide. We take a quick peek from behind the backstage curtain. People of all ages and backgrounds congregate around the many tables and full-service bar, standing room only. Hartley would be thrilled.

"It's a good turnout," I tell him, my stomach flip-flopping.

He nods. "A really good turnout. You and Sullivan did a fantastic job."

"It was easy. Hartley knew a lot of people. And when they found out what we had planned they wanted to help."

"I guess this is it then." His eyes meet mine. "Are you ready?"

Time to give Hartley the eulogy she deserves. I nod as my stomach takes a nosedive.

"Then you should take your seat. Let's get this party started!"

By the time I wedge myself between Penny and Sully at a table in the front row, the stage lights have jumped to life and the first beats of a Beyoncé song explode through the speakers. Music pulsates under my sneakers.

We wanted to begin the afternoon by giving the audience a real show before handing the mic over to a bunch of lip-synchronizing amateurs, and the performer before us now—a big-boned, big-haired brunette, wearing an apple-red evening gown tight enough to be mistaken for a second layer of skin—is getting the crowd fired up.

Nervous laughter rumbles around us but is quickly replaced by hoots and howls as she sashays across the stage, her glossy lips moving to the lyrics with passion and precision.

When she finishes the high-spirited number, Bastian introduces her and takes her spot on the stage. He's holding a microphone so everyone can hear.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Lady Bijou's!" His confident voice carries across the packed room, and the hair on my arms stand on end. "My name is Bastian Meullion and I'll be your master of ceremonies this afternoon. We always like to put on a good show for our guests—as you'll see with these next several queens taking the stage. But then, we're going to hand the reins over to you, and it'll be your turn to entertain us!"

The crowd goes wild, clapping and hollering and having fun. My heart's racing. "All proceeds will go directly to The Promise House, a local shelter caring for the needs of homeless and at-risk youth, and will be donated in the name of a very special young lady who's dear to all of our hearts. Hartley Jane MacKenna wanted to make a difference. And now, we get the chance to help her do just that."

"This is amazing," Penny says, nudging me. "I can't believe it's all for Hartley." Her eyes fill with tears as she takes everything in. "Thank you for doing this. I'm so grateful you're her best friend."

Her words take me by surprise. I have to clear my throat. "I'm grateful she's mine."

I look down at my pinky finger. It twitches in response.

Performer number two swaggers on stage and my thoughts are swallowed by the roar of the crowd. She offers an animated rendition of a song I've never heard before and about halfway through, my muscles begin to relax.

After the drag queens have had their turns, Bastian offers the mic to the audience. All eyes dart back and forth, anxiously waiting to see who'll go first. For a moment, I'm afraid no one will volunteer. But then Melanie stands. She meets Bastian at the DJ booth and chooses a song, then makes her way on stage, her fingers fiddling with the frayed hem of her denim shorts.

After Bastian announces her name, the voice of Katy Perry erupts over the audience and Melanie's lips begin to move along with the words. She's obviously spent the past few days choreographing this number. As the song picks up the pace, so does she, and before long, she's sashaying to the lyrics like a pro.

Afterward, there's no shortage of people wanting to show the audience what they've got. Several kids from Hartley's school get up to strut their stuff—including a hilarious group act by Sully and his friends from the varsity soccer team, paying homage to the YMCA's of lip-syncing past.

At the funeral, they shared memories, but here, they're flaunting dance moves. Even some out-of-towners join in the festivities. Everyone's having fun—including Penny and Jolie—but I'm completely obsessed with how, at some point very very soon, it'll be my turn on stage, sharing my thoughts about a girl who's missing her own party.

That's when I get The Nod.

Bastian takes the mic and stands at center stage. His eyes drag over the audience. "This next introduction isn't for a performer, but she does have a few words she'd like to say. She's Hartley's best friend, and with the help of Mr. Sullivan Reed, she's worked tirelessly to make sure this benefit turned out the best it could be." Bastian gives me a wide smile as the crowd applauds. "Gwen Lincoln, the stage is all yours."

With shaking knees, I push my chair away from the table and force myself to stand, every eye following me as I make my way on stage. Spotlights from above nearly blind me as Bastian hands over the microphone. He whispers words of encouragement before retreating to the DJ booth.

My eyes glide over the now silent room as panic swells in my chest. They're waiting for me to say something. Over the past several days, I must have practiced my speech at least a hundred times in the mirror, but now that I'm here, I can't remember a single word. The urge to run is overwhelming, but I stand rooted in place, determined not to let my feet get the better of me.

I glance down at Sully and he gives me a thumbs up.

The speakers choose that very moment to let out an ear-piercing shriek of feedback. I readjust where I'm standing and clear my throat, my sweaty palms clinging to the microphone.

"Hartley MacKenna has been my best friend for as long as I can remember," I tell them, "and I don't really know how to live a life without her. She is—was—the craziest person I've ever known. But crazy in a good way. Crazy in the best way. She had one of those outrageous personalities that stick with you, no matter how brief the interaction. She was all of the things I've never been ... and that's okay."

The audience stares at me, their faces obscured through my unshed tears. "Someone we know recently taught us the importance of finding our cause and leaving our mark. And that's one reason why we're here today. To help Hartley leave the mark she was robbed of making herself. But the truth is, she already left an imprint on every person she's ever met. She left it every time she aced a final exam or shared a moment with her mother. She left it every time she made an inappropriate joke."

A rumble of laughter makes its way around the room. I square my shoulders, and force myself to go on. "Hartley's entire life was made up of hundreds of thousands of impressions that can never be erased. And though she didn't have many years with us, that's the legacy she leaves behind.

"It probably sounds crazy, but I keep expecting her to be here. To send me a text or make me smile when I don't feel like smiling at all. I'm not sure if that's what people mean when they say someone's spirit will always be with us," I tell them, "or if it's my stubborn brain refusing to believe that she's gone. So, instead of dwelling on the fact that she's been taken from us too soon, I want to focus on how she made my world a better place. Because that's the mark she left with me."

I take a deep breath, my hands shaking as I lay the microphone on the stage. I walk toward Bastian.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, meeting me halfway.

I nod. "I want to perform, too."

His eyes widen. "Are you sure?"

"Hartley promised to get me onstage again, and now that I'm here, I don't want to disappoint her."

Then I whisper a song in his ear.

He smiles. "I think we can find that one."

As he turns toward the DJ booth, I pick up the microphone and close my eyes. Hartley always seemed comfortable in her own skin. But looks can be deceiving. So, I put on a brave face, though it's the last thing I feel.

As the first strums of guitar hit the speakers, the audience blurs in front of me until they're a motley of different colors and shapes. And all I can think about is how my best friend should be here with me right now, and not just in spirit. But life isn't fair. We don't always get what we want. And no matter how hard we plan, the universe doesn't owe us anything. Isn't that what Bastian told me once upon a time? But there's hope, he'd said. And isn't that what it's all about?

The lyrics kick in, but my lips refuse to budge. Instead, they're spread across my face in a thin and quivering line. A pit opens in my chest. Something isn't right. I want Hartley to know that she made my world a wonderful place, but this isn't how I want to show her.

The music stops.

My eyes move to Bastian. "Do you want us to start it over again?" he asks in a loud whisper.

When I shake my head, his brows wrinkle in concern.

I turn back to the crowd, and before I can talk myself out of it, I hold the microphone to my lips. And I sing.

"I see trees of green, red roses, too

I see them bloom, for me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world."

My voice shakes as the lyrics stagger from my mouth, accompanied by nothing more than the pounding in my chest.

"The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do

They're really saying, I love you."

After what feels like forever, I run out of words, and for one excruciatingly long moment, it's me staring at the audience and them staring back. Sweat beads my hairline as I wait.

Then they burst into a standing ovation.

And I melt into a puddle of tears.